We've just come back from our twice-weekly warm-water "float" where we meet all sorts of walking wounded - well, floating, really. One of the more interesting one is a Liverpudlian who is a now-retired parole officer.
He tells me that one day he might write a book about all the stuff he's seen but is still daunted by the task ahead of him. I suggested that to give himself confidence he should first try his hand at writing about something a lot more concise, such as a book on Italian war heroes.
He sputtered and almost drowned when I told him that I had watched all twenty-five episodes of the BBC series "Bread". Being on more familiar grounds, we told each other where we lived. "You live on the river?" he asked, dreamily. "I'm jealous!" "The word you're looking for is 'envious'", I said. "Jealousy is a concern to avoid the loss of something you already own, as in 'I jealously guard my possessions'. You can't be jealous of something you don't already own." Bang goes a budding friendship.
It's been raining for weeks now. I've been emptying my scientifically calibrated rain gauge - the dinghy in the river - several times a day and it's still raining. And they want to connect us to town water by the end of the year when we're already drowning in the stuff!!! Go figure!
